CHAPTER IV
INTO THE DANGER ZONE
From Voudrin's tumble-down shanty Sturgeon Lake was nearly a hundred
miles southwest. Given rivers and lakes to traverse, McTavish
could almost do the distance in a day, for Mistisi, his leader dog,
was an animal of tremendous strength and remarkable intelligence.
But in this wilderness of rock-strewn barrens and thick forest it
would take at least two.
Leaving notice of his having occupied the cabin by marking a clean
board with a charred ember, McTavish set forth again, and by the
hardest kind of work covered fifty miles the first day. The second
morning, finding caribou tracks, he delayed his departure until he
had killed a fat cow, for his supplies were running low.
His way now led up one of the tiny tributaries of the Sachigo. At
a point directly east of a little river that emptied into the
southern end of Sturgeon Lake', he struck across country again
until he reached this stream. From there his work was simpler, and
the dogs, again on a river-bed, made fast time.
Having once determined to give up his chase of Charley Seguis
temporarily, McTavish put the matter out of his mind, and bent all
his energies to the work at hand. Late on the afternoon of the
second day, he knew he was approaching the lake, and proceeded
cautiously, hugging the banks with their dark background of forests.
At length, the shore suddenly widened, and he looked across a vast
expanse of glaring snow. Ten miles ahead, on the right shore of
the lake, was a headland. Pointing this out to Mistisi, he set the
dog's nose toward it, and climbed into the sledge. The lake seemed
utterly deserted. No dark, moving figures betrayed the presence
of men or dog-trains. Under cover of the growing darkness, he felt
comparatively secure, and resolved to camp for the night under the
lee of the headland.
And, now, a faint stirring of fear that Jean's message had been a
false alarm took possession of him. If it were so, his pursuit of
Charley Seguis was delayed just that much longer. No feeling of
shame accompanied his thought. The certainty of ultimate success
that has made the white man the inevitable ruler of wildernesses
was strong in him. He merely did not like the prospect of the
half-breed's additional start.
Reaching the headland, Donald halted the dogs, and disembarked.
He had turned his back to unstrap the pack, when he heard a
sound behind him.
“Hands up!” said a stern voice, and, whirling, McTavish looked
into the barrels of two leveled rifles in the steady hands of
as many men.
They were white men, and the captain of Fort Dickey recognized one
of them as Voudrin, the French trapper. His hands went slowly up.
Protected by the rifle of his companion, the other relieved Donald
of the rifle, revolver, sheath-knife, and hooked-shaped hunter's
knife. Then, they permitted him to lower his hands. Voudrin climbed
into the sledge, and, shouting, “Marche donc, marche donc,”
started the dogs around the headland. His companion followed on
foot in company with the captive.
“What does this mean?” demanded McTavish savagely, his blue eyes
dark with anger. “I am McTavish, of the Fort Dickey post, and, when
the factor hears of this, it will go hard with you men. I am on
official business, and I demand an explanation of such treatment.”
“You'll have it soon enough,” replied the other, unmoved. “You see,
it isn't our idea that the factor hear of the occurrence.”
There was something cold and threatening in his tone that caused
Donald to eye the fellow curiously.
“Just what do you mean by that, my friend?” he inquired.
“Don't ask so many questions,” replied the other curtly, and
continued thereafter to maintain a stubborn silence.
On the far side of the headland they came upon very definite signs
of civilization. Tucked into a little bay was a sort of settlement.
A long, rough log house was the main building, and around it were
grouped some score or more shanties such as that Voudrin had occupied
on the Beaver River. On one side of the settlement, a high stockade
of heavy timber was set. It appeared that it was at first intended
to surround the entire group, but that the cold weather had put a
stop to the work.
Voudrin, with the dog-train and sledge, was already ashore on the
beach where a number of men had run down from the large main
building. These now advanced over the frozen lake to greet the two
on foot. McTavish looked them over with keen eyes, memorizing their
faces for future use. It was not long before he located Whiskey
Bill and a number of the other hunters and trappers that were
frequent visitors to the Dickey River-post.
In almost total silence, the procession reached the beach, and
wound up the slight declivity to the large house in the center of
the settlement. Here McTavish was led inside, and discovered that
the building was divided off into a number of small rooms. Into
one of these he was pushed, and the heavy door swung after him. A
little while later an Indian packer appeared with the traps that
had been taken off his sledge, and dumped them into the room,
telling him to make his own supper. Nothing was missing, even
matches, and McTavish built a small chip fire such as he was
accustomed to burn on the trail, taking the material from a pile
of seasoned logs in one corner of the room. The floor was beaten
earth as hard as a rock.
Perplexed and amazed at the mysterious goings-on about him, the
Scotchman vainly sought to explain the presence of the men here,
and his own extraordinary position. Not for ten years, except in
the case of the pursued criminal turning at bay, had an officer in
the Company been subjected to such insulting and disrespectful
treatment. Here, discipline and propriety, the two cardinal virtues
among the Company's servants, had been grossly violated, and by
men who knew the consequences.
Discipline and propriety! On those great beams of organization had
the mighty structure of the Hudson Bay Trading Company been built.
It was reverence for them that caused a dozen men a thousand miles
from the nearest settlement to sit down to dinner in order of
precedence, and be served correctly in that order. It was reverence
for them that caused traders to thrash insolent Indians two years
after their insults had been spoken!
And these men had violated all the canons of this discipline,
frankly and completely, knowing the penalty, but evidently utterly
careless of it. McTavish could not but feel a certain admiration
for their daring. To him, as to nearly all of its servants, the
Company was a huge, unseen, intangible force; a stern monster that
demanded of its subjects such loyalty and unfaltering obedience as
patriots rarely give their country's cause. A stern, but kindly,
master in good repute, and a grim, relentless avenger in ill.
When he had finished his meal, Donald McTavish filled his pipe,
and lay along the ground on his couch made of robes, awaiting
events.
Barely half an hour later, footsteps sounded outside the door, and
a pounding upon it brought him to his feet. Presently the timbers
swung back, and a man stood in the opening.
“Come with me,” the newcomer said, and McTavish preceded him down
the narrow corridor that ran the length of the long building.
Two-thirds of the distance they had walked, when suddenly the walls
fell away, and Donald found himself in a large, low room, bare-floored
and cheerless, that occupied the other third. Smoky torches of wood
standing out from crevices in the logs gave light, and around the
wall he could see perhaps fifty men, standing or squatting. Directly
before him at the opposite end was a sort of low platform, on which
a huge stump served for a table, and another smaller one, behind
it, for a chair. A lone man stood there, looking at him. Owing to
the smoke and the dim light, McTavish could not at first make out
his features. Then, with a start of amazement he recognized him.
It was Charley Seguis.
How had he got here? What was he doing here, this intelligent
half-breed? These and a hundred other questions flashed through
the prisoner's mind.
Suddenly, Seguis began to speak. He was a tall, finely-formed man,
with a clearness of cut to his features that betokened English
parentage on the one side, and the blood of chiefs on the other.
“We are in council to-night to decide what to do with Captain
McTavish,” he said slowly, using the excellent English at his
command. “How he has come here, I do not know. Who told him of the
Free-Traders' Brotherhood, I do not know. As one man against another,
we have nothing against him. He was always good to us, and gave
us large presents for our best skins. But he is one of the Hudson
Bay men, and, therefore, something must be done. It must be done
quickly. We are in council; each man shall have his say.”
Donald's eyes had become more and more accustomed to the dimness
in the huge room. Now, looking about, he saw great bales of pelts
piled indiscriminately, thousands and thousands of dollars' worth.
So, these were free-traders! This was the magnet that had drawn
the hardy trappers from their allegiance to the Hudson Bay! He
shrugged his shoulders. Whatever happened to him, it was they who
would suffer in the end, for this mighty, intangible thing, the
Company, did not look kindly upon free-traders. Ever since 1859,
when the monopoly legally expired, free-traders had been at war
with the great concern, and in the Northwest had established a
brisk and growing competition.
But here, in the vast district between Labrador and the west shore
of the bay, their invasions had, without exception, met with failure.
More than that, those brave men who had undertaken to beard this
lion in his iron wilderness had very rarely returned to tell the
tale of the bearding. Warned once or twice, the more timid retired,
baffled and unsuccessful. Persistent, the trader fell a victim to
gun “accidents,” canoe “upsets,” or even starvation carefully
engineered by unseen, but competent, agents.
All these things were traditions of the Company, and McTavish had
been brought up on them. He had never taken part in such doings,
but he was certain in his own mind that they were not all fiction,
for such fictions do not spring to life miraculously in regions
where emotions are naked and primitive, and existence is pared down
to the raw.
Here were men who had evidently banded themselves into a Free-Traders'
Brotherhood. How many had enlisted in its ranks besides those in
this room, he had no idea; perhaps there were hundreds. It had
evidently been well organized, for it had taken shape with amazing
swiftness and certainty.
Jean had been right. This was more important, vastly more important,
than the pursuit of a renegade half-breed... But that half-breed
was himself at the head of the organization.
“That's what half an intelligence will do for a man!” said McTavish
to himself, with contempt. “This fellow is just bright enough to
be better than his class. He therefore immediately sets himself up
as a leader to buck the Company. God help him!”
But the captain's thoughts almost immediately turned to his own
case. What was that old Indian saying? He listened.
“In the past history of the Company, when a rival appeared, there
had been much killing. Murder, violence, Intrigue, conspiracy—all
these have flourished when a rival took the field. We may look for
them now, and he who strikes first forestalls the other. It is, of
course, impossible for this Captain McTavish to reach Fort Dickey
or Fort Severn again. Three sentences from him, and we are discovered,
and the chase begun. We are not strong enough yet for open conflict.
By spring, perhaps, but not now. McTavish must never tell. A strong
arm, a well-directed blow—”
“But, my good brother, you do not counsel murder in cold blood?”
asked Seguis, in a tone of horror. “To kill our old friend, Captain
McTavish, because he has happened to come upon us here—oh, no,
no, no! It is impossible. But, yet,” he added, “he must not tell
what he has seen.”
He turned to McTavish.
“Will you give an oath never to reveal what you have seen and heard
here?”
“No,” Donald said bluntly. “I won't.”
“By refusal, you sign your own death-warrant,” warned the half-breed,
not unkindly. “For the sake of all of us, give this oath.”
“Seguis,” replied Donald, just as quietly, “you know you ask the
impossible. Let's not waste any more time over it. Decide what you
are going to do with me—and do it!”
“Why not keep him with us here a prisoner?” suggested an old buck;
only to be cried down loudly as a doddering dotard, whose blood
had turned to water.
“What?” one shouted, wrathfully. “Have another mouth to feed all
winter, while the owner of it stays idle? Never! Anyone that eats
with us must work.”
For a long minute, Seguis sat with his chin in his hand, meditating.
Then, he ordered Donald's captors to take their prisoner back to
the little room, saying:
“I have a plan in mind, which we must discuss—privately, out of
the captain's hearing.” He turned to the Hudson Bay man, and spoke
decisively: “You shall hear our decision to-night, sir, whatever
it is.”
Without answer, Donald wheeled, and walked away in the company of
his guards to the room that served as a cell, where again he was
left in solitary confinement.
